Open Air
by valix33
Summary: The Fury crew wasn't killed by the German patrol, they were captured and brought to a camp for POWs. Together they suffer and try to survive the torture that threatens to break them.
1. The Capture

**I wanted to write a story where the guys didn't die in the tank because I love these characters. Hope you enjoy. I don't own anything I don't own.**

Norman hurried through the trees to watch the road for any of the Nazis. It was a struggle to hold his gun along with his food and canteen. When he finally plopped down on the ground he was glad to set the gun on the grass next to him for a moment. At the moment the road was clear.

The water from the canteen felt so good trickling down his parched throat, and before he knew it the canteen was empty. None of them had been keeping track of how much they were putting in their bodies. If they had a free moment it was rare, and they were always feeling paranoid. Norman was starting to get used to it. The fresh air felt strange to him and he kept thinking about how the grass felt different from his seat in Fury.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of singing and the marching of several people. As he gazed down the road he saw a number of Germans approaching with a vehicle behind them. Each one was armed and they moved in an eerie unison. They were marching right toward the members of his crew.

He stood up to run back to Fury, disregarding the box of food and the canteen, but he wasn't quick enough. Before he knew what was happening a bullet pierced his thigh and he was back on the ground again, eating dirt. The approaching Nazis had spotted him and now a group of four was on their way over. He dug his fingers into the ground and attempted to pull himself forward.

"Sergeant!"

Back at the tank, Gordo and Grady worked on repairing the tread to get Fury up and running again. Wardaddy sat on top observing the area, worrying about Norman. The kid hadn't been spoiled yet like most of the soldiers he knew. When the war ended Norman could still go home and lead a normal life. But it wouldn't be the same for the rest of them; they weren't the same men that had entered the tank the first time.

When the gunshot went off everyone froze and all eyes gazed toward the trees. There was a moment of silence, then a cry from Norman.

"Everyone get your guns, move it!" barked Don, sliding off the tank. The other three men armed themselves and the group jogged in the direction of the trees. On the inside Don began to feel fear, each step escalating his anxiety about what he was going to find.

The Nazis came through the trees before they could even reach Norman's post, and suddenly there were several guns pointed at the four of them. They kept their weapons up but neither side was firing.

"Legen Sie Ihre Waffen!" shouted one of the soldiers. The Fury crew looked to Wardaddy for a translation.

"He wants us to put down our guns."

"Like hell! Hey fuck you man!" Grady's words seemed to translate because they heard the click of each gun loading.

"Gentlemen, I do think you should comply." The statement came from a German officer, a blonde-haired prick with an assortment of fancy metals and buttons. What caught the Americans' eyes was the sight of who was with the officer, Norman. There was a bullet in his thigh but it seemed to have missed a major artery.

"You let him go you cocksucker!" Bible commanded, aiming his gun at the officer. In response the officer took his pistol and pressed it into the side of Norman's head. They could see Norman was trying not to look pitiful, but with the pain in his leg and the gun against his temple it was clear how frightened he was.

"Or I could shoot the boy right now, and kill you all anyway. Now put the guns down, or he dies." Bible was the first to comply without hesitation, setting his weapon on the ground.

"Do it," Wardaddy instructed. He and Gordo reluctantly obeyed the officer as well, but Grady didn't waver.

"I like you kid, I really do," he stated, "but I'm not going to one of those camps. No way in hell."

"Grady, just put it down."

"Fuck that!" He glared over at Don. "If it wasn't the kid you'd still be holding that gun. I am not going like that."

"I need you to trust me. It's going to be okay." Grady's arm began to shake and finally he chucked his gun into the trees.

"Shit." A twisted smirk came from the officer and he shoved Norman onto the gravel, still pointing the gun at him.

"Take them all."

**Most of the story will take place in a prisoner camp, I'll try to update soon. Thanks for reading!**


	2. Arrival

**Thanks to everyone who read the first chapter. Now you get to see what the prisoner camp looks like and we meet a couple of OCs. I don't own anything I don't own.**

The five were driven in the vehicle to be picked up along with the other POWs. There was a train that nearly three hundred Allied prisoners were shoved into like livestock being herded into pens. When the door to their car slammed shut it was nearly pitch black, which was good because Norman could pretend he couldn't see Grady's eyes looking directly at him.

Many of the prisoners tried talking during the ride, some were even blubbering, but the Fury crew remained silent. Norman knew even if he wanted to speak there were no words that could change the situation anyway. He felt so guilty that he had been injured and that allowed the Nazis leverage over his friends. And in the back of his mind he kept thinking that each one of them hated him right now.

When the train finally arrived they started filing prisoners into lines. Bible noted most of the occupants were American but there were a handful of British and French soldiers mixed among the crowd. Along the chain-link fences were several posts where Germans stood guard with rifles on their shoulders. There was even a central guard tower where one could catch just a glimpse of two eyes scanning the group. Wardaddy was the first to realize they were pulling some of the prisoners away from the rest.

"They're taking the injured somewhere else," he whispered to the others. "Norman, they're going to pull you away. Stay calm." Norman nodded only because he was following his Sergeant's order; he was not feeling the least bit calm at the moment. Eventually he was grabbed by one of the Nazis and dragged past the other prisoners toward an isolated tent at the end of camp.

Judging by the makeshift beds and stash of supplies near the corner, he guessed it was the medical tent. When he was shoved inside there was another American being inspected by a petite woman. She looked French, her appearance delicate and her silky hair a chocolate color.

"He has a shattered kneecap." He was right, French. "It's likely he'll never walk properly again." Beside her was the same officer prick that had taken all of them, taking note of everything the nurse said. Just his luck that the officer who knew his face seemed to be in charge.

"Thank you for your honesty, Annette." Two other soldiers helped the American up at Officer Prick's instruction and started leading him out of the tent. As he was halfway out, however, the officer took his pistol and fired one shot right through the prisoner's head. The sick bastard had been waiting until he was visible to the arriving prisoners to execute him. With a gesture of the finger Norman was brought over to the same table where his predecessor had been given a death sentence.

"I recognize you," said the officer, his tone making Norman uneasy. "See this boy, Annette? I shot him myself. Let's see how accurate I am." Annette took the bandage off his thigh and he saw that it had stopped bleeding, so the damage wouldn't be life threatening. She shined a light into the wound and start doing her inspection.

"The bullet has gone through. It shouldn't permanently inhibit walking but it is a serious injury. He can move, but not consistently or at regular speed." Norman could feel his heartbeat rising, his palms start to sweat, his body visibly shaking. Officer Prick stared at him for a long time as Annette's words sunk in. They were going to kill him.

"Send him back to the others." Wait, they weren't going to shoot him? He looked back at the officer in disbelief and while doing so caught a glimpse of the name on his coat. H Faust.

The other Fury crew members proceeded up the line as each prisoner was sorted into a group. Bible ran through the numbers in his head, trying to determine if they were going to be split up. It was Gordo that first saw Norman being brought back to the line.

"Well look who's still alive." Everyone glanced at their comrade as he was placed back into the line with them. They were nearly at the front of the line, but there was still a British soldier in front.

"Diese sechs, bringt sie zu D Zelle," said the German with the clipboard.

The Fury crew and the Brit were taken along the length of the camp, watching their fellow soldiers being filed into cells. When they came to a door marked D, the Nazis pushed the six inside and then locked the door. At the bottom of the door was a slit, likely for food to be passed through, and thankfully it also allowed light to seep into the room.

"What's your name, English?" The Americans observed the Brit with apprehension, trying to read him. He looked like a normal soldier, neat black hair and a tough physique.

"Henry Wilkins. You can call me London." The six of them tried to get as comfortable as possible but there wasn't much room to move around. To make matters worse, there was a bucket in the middle of the cell and no one wanted to knock over.

"Smells like shit in here."

"I wonder why."

"Shut up Gordo."

"That's enough fighting," snapped Don. "The damn krauts want us to lose our minds in here. I'm not going to let that happen to me, what about the rest of you?" Bible and Gordo quit their bickering and instead Gordo nudged Norman in the arm.

"So what happened?"

"They had this French nurse, she was checking to make sure everyone could work. I thought they were going to shoot me."

"I'm surprised they didn't." London locked his eyes on the fresh bandage over Norman's thigh. "Don't know how you're going to walk like that."

Norman shrugged and replied, "The officer just looked at me and told them to put me back in line. I don't know why."

"God's not calling you yet, my friend." Bible smiled and gave him a pat on the shoulder. "At least there's some good news."

Wardaddy was the only to notice that Grady hadn't said a single word since their capture. In all the years they'd been in the tank together the only time words had stopped spewing from his big mouth was in order to eat or take a breath. He was concerned about what would happen when Grady eventually spoke again, a quiet Coon-Ass was dangerous.

**Grady's pretty pissed, but they're all alive. Norman's the main character but we're going to see what happens to all the guys in later chapters and learn a little more about the other residents of the camp. Hope you enjoyed it!**


	3. Reluctance

**I'm so glad people have been responding to this so well! This chapter we get a little from all the Fury crew.**

Their cell door wasn't opened again until the next morning, and the six were immediately yanked outside and forced to march down the camp. Every prisoner was being sorted into different areas to do their jobs. It was unlikely they'd be kept together when they were given their tasks, and the thought worried Don greatly. As if to confirm his worries, two soldiers came over and started pulling Norman away again.

"Where are you taking him?" Bible demanded, trying to hold on to Norman. One of the soldiers hit him and his grip was released. Gordo helped Bible get back to his feet again and they moved forward.

"It's out of our hands, man. He'll be okay." After Norman was gone men started approaching them and asking about their skills, what they could do to contribute at camp. Wardaddy had to translate nearly everything they were saying until finally it seemed clear what each of them did.

Gordo and Grady were taken to work on damaged German vehicles because of their experience repairing Fury. London had spent a few years working as a medic for his crew so he was sent to assist in the medical tent. That left Don and Bible being brought over to an isolated area of the camp for reasons they weren't being told.

It wasn't until they reached their destination that the two saw what their job would entail. Laid out in rows upon rows were the bodies of dead soldiers. Like the living occupants most of the corpses were American and they hadn't even bothered to close the eyes or cover up the bodies. Bible felt bile rise in his throat but forced himself to choke it down so the Nazis wouldn't get the satisfaction.

"You two are going to take care of these bodies," said one of the Germans, a lanky man with dark hair and a scarred cheek. "Pile them up, and burn them." There were soldiers all around, waiting for them for slip up so they could put a bullet in their backs. Don reluctantly moved forward and started pulling one of the bodies out of its row, but Bible remained frozen to his spot. Scar approached and got right in his face.

"I'm not doing it. These are people." Scar was silent for a moment, and then his fist slammed into Bible's gut so hard it took his breath away.

"You will do as you're told."

"Fuck you." Scar snapped his fingers and three guns pointed at Wardaddy.

"Do it, or I'll kill you and they'll kill him and we'll find someone to burn you with the other bodies." He saw Don looking back at him with concern, not for himself but for Bible.

"Boyd." It was rare for Don to use his regular name unless he was trying to talk to him as a friend instead of a fellow soldier.

He had to fight his own body as he trudged past Scar and grabbed one of the corpses, dragging it away from the rest and setting it down gently on the ground. When no one was looking he grabbed the soldier's dog tags and shoved them in his pocket. Wardaddy put the body he was pulling in the same spot and Bible grabbed those dog tags as well. They worked through each and every body until there was a pile so high it threatened to topple and send soldiers rolling down like a crate of apples. Bible had so many tags in his pockets it was difficult to pretend like he wasn't hiding them. When the pile was assembled Scar took a match and lit it, but handed it over to Bible.

"I'll let you have the honor." With blood-smeared hands Bible accepted the match and tossed it down on the pile. The bodies ignited all at once and the flames began to warp the details of their faces.

"Are we done?"

"Take them to clean out the medical tent." The soldiers pulled the two away from the burning pile and escorted them near the medical tent. Don noticed Bible's hands were shaking and grabbed them.

"We do what we have to do," he whispered. "It's not your fault." When Bible didn't answer he used his jacket to wipe the blood from Bible's hands and clapped him on the shoulder. "We're going to get through this, all of us. Understand?"

"Yes sir."

After thirty minutes of working on a German transport vehicle, Gordo had become aware of Grady's silence. He did his work just fine, hammering the dent out of the side of the car, but didn't utter a word the entire time. Gordo lifted up the hood and started poking around inside.

"Hey Grady, help me look at this." Grady stood up and walked over, examining the inside of the hood. Finally Gordo couldn't take it anymore and blurted out, "Can you just say something already? Be an ass if you want, talk to me man."

"Fuck that kid. And fuck the Sarge too. We shouldn't have put our guns down. I could've gone out on my terms instead of letting the krauts force me to work for them. This is bullshit!"

"What good would dying have done for you?" asked Gordo. "You might've killed two krauts and then we'd all be dead."

"We're dead anyway, Gordo!"

"Our people are in Germany," Gordo pointed out. "It's only a matter of time before Berlin goes down and they're storming this camp to rescue us."

"What if they get word the Americans are winning? Then we all get shot in the head or worse. There is no good ending for us."

"We've been brothers for years, Grady. Are you going to let that end in here?" Grady sighed and stepped back from the car.

"You're right," he admitted, "the four of us have been years together. But that kid is no brother of mine, and he never will be."

Hoping to change the subject, Gordo noted, "It's all fried, we're going to need to replace everything. Maybe some of the junk in here could be useful." Grady reluctantly helped him sort through the discarded car parts and piles of junk. Though he said nothing, mentally Gordo was telling himself to keep Norman as far away from Grady as possible.

When Norman was brought through the front door of a small house he knew it had to be the living quarters for Faust. Sure enough, Faust himself was sitting in his office with a pile of papers at his desk. He held up his hand when the soldiers entered with Norman and waved them away.

"Go ahead and take a seat boy." He gestured to a nearby chair and Norman limped over to it, taking his seat. "Tell me your name."

"N-Norman, Norman Ellison." Faust seemed to sense his apprehension.

"There's nothing to fear Norman," he assured. "I had the opportunity to kill you and I didn't. Most men would show some gratitude."

"Thank you. But, why didn't you?"

"I require someone to do tasks around my quarters and I couldn't waste the resource of a perfectly healthy worker. So I chose you." A server came in with food and he had two plates in his hands.

"You had them bring me food?"

"You look like you haven't eaten in days, you must be hungry." The plates were set in front of them and Faust picked up his fork. "Eat."

"I appreciate it," Norman said gratefully. He took his silverware and cut into his meat, which apparently impressed Faust.

"Living in war and you still know your manners. Tell about where you come from boy. How old are you?"

"I turned 17 last November."

"Such a young child, too young to be a soldier." There was a strange look of sympathy from Faust that looked out of character for him. "I've never approved of using children in war."

"I enlisted myself," confessed Norman. "My father fought in the Great War thirty years ago and I wanted to make him proud."

"How proud would he be right now?" Faust started eating and Norman mimicked him, trying to avoid speaking again. If his father could see him now, eating with the enemy, he would probably disown him. Perhaps he'd be right to do so.

**I know they never said Norman's age and I thought he looked young enough I could make him 17. Also, Grady is a little better (not really) and poor Bible. Hopefully throughout the story there will be some bromance for all the crew members. I have no idea when I'll update again but I know we'll see more of the OCs as well as the Fury crew next time.**


	4. Warnings

**This is kind of a short update, but this chapter's important. Thanks to everyone who's been reading so far, I appreciate it! I don't own anything I don't own.**

London and Annette were experiencing a rare break inside the medical tent. Every day prisoners were brought in with injuries from work and they were supposedly tasked with fixing them. But most often if it was something more serious than dehydration or exhaustion a soldier would just come in and shoot their patients. While there was a moment of peace they sat and Annette began to smoke a cigarette.

"So what's your story?" he inquired. "If you're French what are you doing here?" She shrugged and took a puff of the cigarette.

"What difference does it make? I'm here now." He'd been attempting to chat her up since his assignment to the tent but she met him with nothing but coldness.

"It makes a difference because everyone has a story. I like to know those stories."

"Why?"

"Isn't it a little comforting to know no matter what happens to us, all our stories can still survive?" The look she gave him was stronger than a thousand winters sleeping in the snow; he could feel his blood temperature dropping.

"I'm not going anywhere, so my story doesn't matter." Before the situation could get any more awkward than it already was Don came in with a bucket of water and a scrub brush. London liked Don, he was the kind of man that wasn't as common to come by anymore. He could sense the honesty, the kindness, and he knew that Don was a good man.

"Afternoon, you two." He got down on his knees and soaked the brush in the bucket before beginning to scrub the blood from the floor. When the soldiers shot injured prisoners they didn't bother to clean up afterward, so Faust had sent him to wash away all the blood. To him it seemed pointless if they were just going to shoot more people in the medical tent. But he knew that he'd do nobody any good if he got himself shot. The others were barely holding onto themselves as it was, so he sucked it up and bore their weight on his shoulders.

"How you been doing?" London was polite; Don wished he could've met him under different circumstances.

"Could be worse. What about you?"

"I'm hanging in there. Still alive after all."

"The boy you came in with," Annette interrupted, "is he yours?"

"He's not my son if that's what you're asking," answered Don. "He's a member of my company."

"But you care for him?"

"I do."

"Keep your eye on him here," she warned. "He's not safe."

"No one's safe here, what do you mean?"

"The soldiers here, they're sick. They like to play if you understand me. Every so often some of them will pick a prisoner and bring them somewhere where nobody can see, and then they play. I've seen it happen before. And they always go for the boys." London grimaced as he processed exactly what she was suggesting and Don stopped cleaning the floor.

"That's not going to happen. I'd die before I let them near him."

"You might have to keep that promise."

Norman was being escorted back to his cell after completing his job for Faust. He hated spending so much time around Faust, never knowing if he was in danger or not. He hated eating the food that Faust put in front of him. It tasted tainted, like the fact that he was eating it in front of Faust spoiled it, but he did so out of fear. Mostly he hated that he was getting special treatment when his crewmates weren't. He deserved nothing; he deserved to be hurt worse than them for getting them into this mess. Faust could act polite all he wanted, but Norman still hated him.

As soon as the door was opened he had the urge to run. He thought perhaps he'd be the only one in the cell, but Grady was already in there. Anyone else he could've handled being alone with, not Grady. Even before they were locked up Grady had always hated him. The Germans scared him more, but only barely.

"I thought you and Gordo were working on a transport truck together," Norman said as the door closed and he heard the click of the lock. He was so fucked.

"They wanted Gordo to sift through some recovered junk today, pick out what was useful. Guess they didn't need me." Grady was standing in the corner, a stoic expression on his face.

"A-are you okay?" He was hoping just to keep talking idly until one of the other men got back, but his attempt wasn't good enough because Grady came sauntering over to him.

"Looks like you're holding up," Grady stated casually. "Leg's getting better." Without warning he kicked Norman in his injured thigh and Norman cried out, collapsing onto the ground. He grabbed the kid by his collar and yanked him up, slamming him into the wall.

"Wait, Grady-"

"Shut up! We're going to talk some things out, you and me, and I'm going to make them extra clear so you understand. First, it is your fault we are here. Understand me?"

"I'm sorry, I-"

"What did I say about shutting up?" Grady yelled, shaking him a little. "Second, the only reason you are not dead right now is because those men are my family and I'm not going to risk them. Understand me?" This time Norman was smart enough just to nod silently. "Lastly, and you're going to want to pay attention here, if anything should happen to any of them because of you I will break your neck. Understand me?" Norman nodded once more and Grady punched him in the jaw before dropping him. As he returned back over to the corner he could see Norman trembling on the floor. His point had gotten across.

**To all the Grady lovers I like him too and I'm not trying to make him a bad guy. When I was watching the movie he seemed kind of angry and he didn't really like Norman too much so I'm continuing that here. What are your thoughts on London's obsession with stories and Annette's warning?**

**I want to thank Athena Silverwolf for reminding me I hadn't made it clear that Norman isn't fond of the special treatment, trust me he's not turning into a Nazi lover. Hope you enjoyed it!**


	5. Defiance

**Took me a couple days but I finally finished this chapter. Be warned, this chapter is not a nice one. I don't own anything I don't own.**

Most of the time Gordo was proud of his heritage. There were only three times in his life when he wasn't happy to be Mexican American. The time he was chased home from school and beaten by those bullies, the time he was almost deported by his racist neighbors, and right now. Whether they were Hispanic, black, or Asian, the Nazis loved giving the worst jobs to every prisoner that wasn't white. And his job at the moment was cleaning out all the buckets they put in the cells to hold shit.

Each bucket he was forced to take just outside of camp boundaries one by one and dump them out on the ground for the rain to wash away. Then what was left in the bucket he had to scrub out with his bare hands and a brush. There was a hose they kept around camp for when they needed, but they'd never let him use it. The entire time he was cleaning Scar and a handful of other soldiers stood by and watched, ready to shoot him if he tried anything.

"Enjoying yourself?" inquired Scar, smirking. There were so many profanities on the tip of Gordo's tongue that he could taste them. But he swallowed down his words and kept pushing himself to do the work.

One of the soldiers kicked a bucket and it spilled waste all over the place, drawing a raucous of laughter. Gordo used the brush to scrape it all back into the bucket and then picked it up. He was biting his tongue so hard that small drops of blood were pooling in his mouth. Rather than swallow the blood he spit it into the bucket and dumped it out with the rest of the waste.

"Wetback." He remembered the word, he knew it well. He'd been called one before, by neighbors and strangers and one particularly hateful police officer. And he remembered the day that someone had uttered the word to his mother. He hated it, something about the word turned on a part of him that was especially angry.

Before he knew what he was doing he'd spun around and punched the kraut in the nose. Instantly he was down on the ground, being kicked in both his gut and back at the same time. He fought the blackness that started fogging up his vision until the pain finally subsided.

"Don't kill him," Scar ordered. "That would be too easy." He took one of the full buckets and splashed it all over Gordo. "Now you're nothing more than a piece of shit. Take him back to his cell." The soldiers each grabbed a part of his shirt, careful to avoid the waste that was all over him, and started dragging him toward the cells. Part of him wished they would've just gotten it over with.

There were no jobs in the camp that Bible actually enjoyed doing, but performing last rites wasn't the worst use of his time. In front of him was a German soldier, dying from an infection he'd contracted over the course of weeks. They hadn't been able to find a priest to come out so quickly, but they'd taken note of Bible and his religious knowledge. Two soldiers stood to his side and the dying had been made comfortable in his quarters.

"Let us pray," he told them. For once he didn't feel scared in the camp; the soldiers were listening and clasping their hands in reverence. He felt like they weren't Americans and Germans, they were just Christians. As he said the Anointing of the Sick rite his voice was the only sound he could hear. Even though it wasn't in German it seemed like they understood every word he was saying. When he was done he paused and waited for them to speak. Instead one of the soldiers took out some bread and offered it to him.

"Take it, please." Bible gently accepted the bread and put it in his pants pocket, avoiding his coat because of the dog tags already taking up space.

"Thank you." A third soldier was brought in to take him back to his cell while the others said goodbye to their comrade.

In the cell he saw Gordo lying down on the floor, half of his body covered in dried shit. They didn't speak to each other at first. Bible took his spot farthest from the door and reached into his pocket for the bread. With the amount they were being fed right now he was hungry enough to shove the whole thing down his throat. But he split down the middle as best he could and reached across the cell to give half to Gordo. Gordo didn't hesitate to grab the food and start eating. Thankfully nothing had gotten on his fingers.

"You know what I'm going to ask," Bible stated.

"They wanted me to clean out the buckets. Thought it'd be funny to pour one on me. I hate them so much."

"The Nazis have some weird race or something. Aryans I think." Gordo scoffed as he took a bite of bread.

"It's not the Germans. The same kind of crap happened back home. Doesn't matter if it's Germans or Americans, I've been treated like dirt my whole life."

"I'm American, so is the rest of the crew. We wouldn't be alive if not for you." Gordo shrugged and sat up.

"I'll admit when I got assigned I thought I was going to be the odd man out. But I was wrong."

"Blood doesn't make family," Bible told him. "You're just as much my brother as the others. Hell, I like you better than Grady." They both chuckled in spite of themselves.

"You are the least asshole out of everyone in the tank." Bible finished his bread and started taking off his coat.

"Here, take my coat. That way you can wear something relatively clean." Gordo complied and pulled off first his coat before removing his shirt as well. When Bible passed over the coat he buttoned it up and exhaled in relief.

"Thanks Bible. But what's with all the dog tags?" He shook the coat slightly and it jingled.

"They wanted us to burn the bodies. Those men didn't deserve to be forgotten, their families didn't deserve it. When we get out of here I'm going to make sure every family knows their loved ones died for something. I can take them back." Gordo shook his head and patted one of the pockets.

"It's our mission now." Bible saluted with a grin and Gordo returned the gesture, secretly glad to have a mission again.

Norman's job for the day was organizing the collection of books in Faust's house. All were written in German, so he couldn't understand what most of them were supposed to be. But there was one that he remembered hearing about when he was in school. Kinder und Hausmärchen, Grimm's Fairy Tales. He pulled it off the shelf and started to leaf through it, from what he could tell it was a first edition.

"Put that down!" snapped Faust, alerting him. He quickly put it where it was supposed to go and placed his hands at his sides.

"Sorry."

"While you're working for me, you're to call me sir." Norman turned and looked right at Faust.

"Sergeant Collier is my sir." A look of amusement came over Faust and he whistled. From the other room a subordinate German entered and trotted over. Faust whispered something in his ear and he ran back out. At first Norman didn't know what was happening. But the subordinate returned with another soldier and they were restraining Don between them.

"You say he's the man you call sir?" Faust asked as he stood up. "I'll tell you what, when you feel I've earned the title you let me know." He abruptly slugged Don in the jaw and the force almost knocked him out of the soldiers' grip. Norman tried to intervene but Faust put him on the floor with one hit.

"Leave him alone."

"Those aren't the words I'm looking for." Another blow hit Don in the cheek, and then one in his stomach, and the onslaught continued. Each time Norman tried to get up he was kicked back down again. Finally he couldn't take watching his commander being hurt anymore.

"I'm sorry, sir." Faust casually wiped the blood off his knuckles and stepped away from Don.

"Guess he's not yours anymore." He strolled over to Norman and pulled the boy to his feet, patting him on the cheek. "Next time I give you an instruction, I trust you'll follow it."

When the two Americans were allowed to go Norman kept glancing at Don, guilt all over his face. Don noticed these glances but didn't return them in case he sent Norman the wrong message. His lip was split and there were bruises beginning to form all over his face, but he'd been in worse shape before.

"You better wipe that look off your face. They'd have to do a lot worse to me if they wanted to hurt me."

"He did it because of me."

"He did it because he's a cocksucker. You were standing up to him and I understand. So don't look at me like a victim. Understood?" Norman nodded as the soldiers opened the cell door. The other four had returned by that time and they immediately took notice of the beating that Don had taken.

"What happened to you?" demanded Grady, his glare focused on Norman.

"One of the krauts wanted me to call him sir," Don lied flawlessly. "Didn't give him what he wanted." Grady was still glaring at Norman but he didn't get up. When the two sat down Don switched places with Norman so he was as far from Grady as possible. The others were nervous for a moment, but ultimately they knew with Don in the way there would be no fight tonight.

"What smells like shit?"

"Long story."

**I think Gordo got the worst of it, but what do you think? Is Faust or Scar worst? For everyone waiting for Grady to attempt murder it's probably going to happen, but not nearly this soon. Hope you enjoyed it!**


	6. Grady's Choice

**I know this chapter is really short, but it's leading up to next chapter. For all you Grady fans, this one's all about him. I don't own anything that I don't own.**

Grady was outside the camp for the first time in a week, but he wasn't free. Scar and three other Nazis had dragged him past the fences as part of a job. They needed parts for the transport vehicle he was repairing and he was being brought along to verify that everything they needed came back with them. There was a rifle pointed at him the entire time he was moving.

In the nearest town over there was a mechanic's shop full of auto parts. The SS were allowed to seize anything they desired, so the mechanic willingly let them into his store. It was so odd to see people so complacent. Most of the towns they'd passed through in Germany had been full of oppressed civilians. There had been scattered German supporters, but most of the families had been glad to be free of the Nazis. But this town was full of loyalty, and it was unnerving.

"Find us what we need." The Nazis stood by as Grady started pawing through the supplies, a large bag with him. Unfortunately they didn't need an engine because they didn't seem to have any of those. He picked pieces up and tossed them in the bag as quickly as he could.

"This should be it." One of the soldiers grabbed his arm and yanked him back out onto the street, where all eyes were on him.

"Eindringling!" shouted one of the townspeople, picking up a rock and throwing it at him. Suddenly even the children were grabbed rocks and chucking them at the American. He guessed they were shouting insults by their tone but he couldn't understand what they were saying.

"Mörder!"

"Schmutzig Hund!" That one might've had something to do with a dog. The Nazis seemed to be enjoying themselves but nevertheless had to take him back to the camp so he could finish his job. Some of those rocks had scratched his face, but mostly he was just thinking about his shock. Served him right for thinking Germans could be good people.

On the road back to camp they passed by a cottage that had been abandoned by its owners. It wasn't very big and there was a hole in the roof, probably why the occupants had gone. But in a weird way it reminded Grady of home. A family of eight crammed together into a small house removed from the city, though he'd lived closer to the water than this cottage was. He remembered going to fish with his father and praying they caught a fish and not something bigger. It made him miss the home he'd left four years ago. Then he told himself that he wasn't anything like the Germans and kept going.

The sound of footsteps and voices alerted all of them, the voices weren't speaking in German. Before Grady could say anything the Nazis were pushing him into the cottage and down onto the floor. He tried to fight them but two pinned him to the ground and pressed a pistol into the side of his head. As they sat inside and hid the voices became much clearer.

"What are we doing out here in the middle of nowhere?" asked one of them.

"Tomorrow we're joining the other platoon and taking that town a few miles west. Our mission is to scout out the area for Germans."

"I hope we find some. My trigger finger's itching for some krauts."

"I've seen you shoot, you're terrible."

"Should we check that house over there?" Scar noticed Grady's struggling and moved closer to him.

"Tell them we're here, I dare you," he whispered. "If we don't arrive back at camp, then Faust will execute your little friends. So do what you feel is necessary." Grady should've called for help, he could feel the sound at the tip of his tongue, but he didn't. Fuck the kid, but Bible and Gordo and Don were still his family. And he'd learned since he was a boy that family was not to be taken lightly.

"The roof caved in, dumbass," said one of the Americans. "Who the hell would be in there? Let's keep going." Grady had to listen to them pass by, each footstep he heard like a punch to his face. When they were gone he was dragged to his feet.

"You're not going anywhere," Scar told him. He told himself that Gordo's words were true; the Americans would come for them soon. If he was right, then he wished they would hurry up already. He was getting real tired of the damn Germans.

**I wanted to put some of Grady's German hating in this story. Next chapter's going to be an exciting one! Let me know what you thought.**

**P.S.- The insults were "Intruder", "Murderer" and "Dirty Dog".**


	7. Dogfight

**Took me a little while to finish this one but I hope it's worth it. Warning, this chapter is really sad for the Fury crew so beware. I don't own anything I don't own.**

The American pressure continued to mount against the Nazis and it was starting to show at camp. At first the prisoners were hopeful when word began to spread of a possible rescue soon. But Faust and the soldiers started cracking down. There were more punishments for misbehaving, more executions for reasons that were low even for the Nazis. Everyone in the Fury crew had taken some beatings for their own reasons, everyone except Norman. Instead of punishing him Faust insisted on punishing Wardaddy and it was driving Norman insane. He felt so much shame for causing harm to Don that he started doing whatever he was told.

That morning everyone was busy with their work. Don and several other prisoners had been tasked with sorting through the corpses of the dead for any possessions they had which could be useful. When the bodies had been stripped of everything Bible and Gordo had to place them on the pile and douse them with gasoline. Gordo would've preferred to be fixing the transport vehicle with Grady, but at least he had help from Bible. Bible still seemed to be upset at the task of burning the bodies. But Don knew as much as it hurt him it was much better than if he didn't feel anything about the burning.

"Think we'll get some food after this?" asked Gordo. They got morsels every now and then but everyone was starting to get skinnier with the inconsistency of the feedings.

"We damn well better."

"Hey Gordo, if you could pick anything what would you eat?" The question came from Bible, innocent enough but it had their attention.

"I remember my mama, she used to make this delicious lemon pork stew once a week when my family would come over for dinner."

"Lemon pork stew, huh?" Don inquired skeptically.

"Don't knock it, she made the recipe herself. What about you?"

"In my neighborhood we'd all have a fair every summer to see who made the best kind of pie. If my mother was around I'd say that her pecan pie was the best, but really Mrs. Hennessey made the most delicious blueberry pie on the planet. Blueberry pie and beer, that's all a man needs." Both Gordo and Don started laughing at his last statement, and even Bible chuckled a little.

"How 'bout you Bible?"

"Man I just want a damn hamburger." Gordo didn't know why he was surprised, but he thought it would be something else. He always saw Bible as a bit of a sophisticated man and he expected his tastes would be just as sophisticated.

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of something overhead. Across the entire camp heads drifted up to the sky with curiosity, both prisoners and Nazis alike. In the distance they spotted two war planes approaching. Soon they could make out the paint on the sides, they were American planes. As the three Fury crew members watched with smiles growing on their faces, the planes soared over their heads with a roar of the engines. They seemed to be scout planes that were supposed to map out Germany for the Allies.

"I want those planes brought down, shoot them down!" barked Scar. He didn't need to give the order. From the opposite direction flew in a German plane, and its guns began firing at the American fighters. The two fighters broke off in opposite directions to escape the barrage of bullets.

"Come on boys, blow it out of the sky," Don whispered. It became a test of maneuvering, all three planes trying to shoot their enemies. They never drifted too far away from the camp, which brought concern to Bible.

"Maybe we shouldn't be standing right here." Scar picked up on this and drew his pistol.

"No one abandons their task, prisoners and guards alike! First person to run gets shot!" Bible started dragging the bodies in a hurry, anxious to get the job done so they could find somewhere safe.

On one of the German plane's runs it sprayed the first fighter with bullets and smoke began to billow out of the aircraft. To escape the fighter descended closer to the ground, but the German was determined to finish his work. As it neared the ground the occupants of the camp began to realize that its descent was not intentional.

The explosion took five prisoners with it and just barely missed hitting the cells. The other workers couldn't help but stare in horror at the erupting flames and burning flesh just yards away from where they were standing. Several tried to run, but found German guns aiming at them.

"I said nobody runs!" Bible stormed over to Scar and got right in his face.

"If we don't move we're all dead anyway," he yelled at the Nazi. They heard more gunfire and he saw the two injured planes playing a game of endurance with each other. One last burst from the American brought the combustion of the enemy plane and it started spiraling toward the ground.

Distracted from Scar now, Bible ran toward where Don and Gordo were being forced to stay by the Germans. He managed to get over to Don and push him away as the second explosion hit right where they were. All three were launched off their feet, along with four other prisoners and two German guards. Don landed hard on his back but he knew that he hadn't been close enough to sustain any serious damage. Bible and Gordo, however, were a much different story.

"Boys!" He sprinted over to Gordo, who was closest, and looked him over. The fire hadn't hit him, but he'd been knocked unconscious from hitting the ground. He'd live. Then Don saw the man who'd pushed him out of harm. Bible had gotten burned on his left side and lay several feet from where he'd saved Don. The way his body was sprawled out didn't look natural and the sight of him caused Don's heart to shatter.

Inside Faust's quarters, Norman had been cleaning the floor of the office when the first explosion had gone off. He immediately stood up and went for the door, but Faust stopped him from leaving.

"My friends are out there," he told Faust.

"You're no use to them. Stay in here and finish your work." Norman was going to listen to him; he didn't want his Sergeant to get beat again after all. Then both heard the second explosion and all rational thought left Norman's mind. He had pushed past Faust and left the quarters before he even knew what he was doing.

Outside it only took seconds for him to process the burning wreckages of the planes. He saw three of his crew members in the middle of the flames, Bible and Gordo injured. Don was watching over them, but there were so many fresh bodies around his friends that he felt the need to be sick. His first thought was to help the only crew member he could still protect from the planes.

"Grady!" He took off running toward the shed.

"Norman, don't!" Norman didn't know who said the words but he wasn't paying much attention. He got the rest of them into this mess and Grady already hated him for it. Maybe he could repay him by getting him somewhere safe.

Don had just checked Bible's pulse when he noticed Norman coming outside. As soon as the boy saw the damage of the planes he was charging over to the shed where Grady was repairing the transport vehicle. Faust was out seconds after and trying to stop Norman.

"Norman, don't!" It seemed unlikely that Faust had uttered those words, but Don had watched him do it. No one appeared to spot that the last American fighter was beginning to malfunction in the air. Within seconds of Norman's arrival at the shed it began to drop straight down. Don wanted so desperately to pull him out, but there were too many flames in his way and he had to make sure his two brothers didn't die on him. He could only watch.

Grady had been aware of both explosions but convinced himself to stay put. Inside Fury, he'd been used to hearing other tanks get shot. Panicking only made people put themselves in further danger and they got killed anyway. But his attitude changed when Norman came running over to him.

"What's going on?"

"There's a dogfight going on, two of the planes crashed," Norman explained urgently. "Come on, if we get to our cell we should be okay there." There was a moment where Grady secretly felt positive feelings toward Norman and he got up to leave the shed with him. But he'd only just gotten to his feet when the last plane crashed into the shed. The next thing he remembered was feeling fire and brick.

**So that gets left off a little depressing. Next chapter we'll figure out if they're okay. On a lighter note, I've actually had lemon pork stew and it's awesome (I know that doesn't make the sadness better but I tried). Hope you enjoyed it!**


	8. Not Dead Yet

**Now we get to learn how severe the injuries are, this chapter still isn't nice. Hope you enjoy it! I don't own anything I don't own.**

Don had failed as a sergeant. All four members of his crew were lying injured in the medical tent, and he wasn't sure who was going to wake up. It was his job as their leader to protect them, yet he was standing beside them as the only one who'd gotten away with scratches and bruises.

First there was Gordo, the best case scenario. They said he had a concussion and a gash on his head but in all likelihood he'd be up again in a few hours. Bible he felt the most guilty about. The man was an idiot for pushing him out of the way, and now he was looking at permanent scars all over his face and his arm because of it. He was being given continuous sedatives to keep him unconscious because every time he'd wake up he'd be screaming in pain. Grady had cracked ribs and a two crushed fingers, in addition to the minor burns he'd obtained from the explosion. And Norman, no doubt the dumbest of the bunch, had sustained the worst injuries. When they'd dug him out he'd been covered in blood and dust, but he didn't look much better now. The wing of the third plane had actually landed on top of him. From head to toe he was covered in cuts and gashes, though it was worst on his face where everything had been colored red. They weren't sure how deep the damage was or even if he'd be able to walk ever again.

London and Annette were running around as fast as humanly possible, trying to help all the injured at once. Don couldn't help but feel a little selfish and hope that they'd at least be able to save his men. They were more than a crew to him, they were his family.

"Don, I don't think you should be here right now," London said. "You're cleared for today; you should wait in the cell." All the survivors that had been on looting duty had been relieved of responsibilities for the rest of the day.

"I'm not going to leave them."

"Well right now you're just in our way." Annette didn't even have to look at him to deliver the cold statement.

"Uncalled for," chimed in London. He'd developed a habit of checking her when she wasn't being kind, even though she usually didn't listen.

"Don?" Bible's voice interrupted everything and all three turned to the man. He was beginning to stir.

"Shit, he's not supposed to be awake," London said, grabbing more sedative. "Bible, I just need you to relax okay?"

"Wait." Bible put his hand up even though doing so drew a whimper of pain from his lips. "Don." Don moved over to him gingerly.

"What is it brother?"

"Tags, get the tags." His hand fell back down and it seemed like he'd passed out again. But Don knew enough to leave the tent while London gave Bible another dose.

The scene of the crashes hadn't yet been disturbed, too many superstitious people afraid that somehow another plane would crash if they went near it. All the bodies were lying where they'd died, each one charred in some kind of way. He remembered Bible and Gordo's mission of collecting the dog tags of all the fallen, and now Bible wanted him to continue it while they were incapacitated.

It wasn't difficult to get the dog tags of the prisoners, took him only five minutes to walk around and grab them. But as for the American pilot that had crashed, that was a different story. The plane had overturned and it was mangled beyond all recognition. Don was determined to do this for his men, so he got on his stomach and crawled under the wreckage. The pilot's body was still strapped in, his arms hanging limp. Don's hand reached up and yanked the tags off before he crawled back out as fast as he could. For a second he looked at the German plane, but all he did was spit on the wreck before heading for the remains of the shed.

Much of the shed had collapsed and there were pieces of rubble everywhere. The transport vehicle had been severely damaged but it could still be repaired, which meant for now they still had a use for Grady. Then there was the third plane, wingless and covered in fire. Upon seeing that fire Don froze in his place. He'd admit it to no one, but he was terrified of fire. It was why he'd panicked upon seeing Bible's burns, why he'd stopped himself from racing through the fires to save Norman, because after he'd gotten his scars he'd promised himself to avoid fire for the rest of his life. But the pilot's body had broken through the glass and hung halfway out.

Don forced himself to take step after step toward the plane and over to the pilot. He darted forward and grabbed the tags before running away. Thankfully no one had seen his fear; it wasn't the kind of thing that he'd ever share with the others. They couldn't know that their leader was afraid.

Gordo woke up with the worst headache he'd ever felt in his entire life. Thankfully the tent flap was closed because even the light that was getting in threatened to blind him. It took him a moment to realize he was in the medical tent.

"How are you doing?" London asked.

"I smell like shit and now I feel like shit. Do I look like shit?"

"Can't blame that one on the planes." Gordo laughed despite the fact it hurt his aching chest. He tried to sit up but a dizzy feeling overtook him and he had to lie back down.

"What the hell's wrong with me?"

"You have a minor concussion. It should go away in a few days, but you should take it easy for a few hours. Try and keep talking, I trust that shouldn't be a problem for you." Gordo looked over and saw his injured crewmates.

"Are they going to be okay?"

"Bible's got some burns and Grady's ribs are a little cracked, but they'll recover soon enough. We're keeping them out just for now."

"What about Norman?" London and Annette exchanged a look that suggested something Gordo didn't like.

"He's in bad shape; we have no way of knowing how severe the damage is. He hasn't even woken up once. Maybe he'll pull through, but we don't know." Gordo rolled over onto his side and stared at the battered form of the young kid he'd sat next to for weeks. The poor boy was not even eighteen yet, he was still innocent.

"Come on kid, I know you're tougher than this," he whispered. "Don't quit on us now."

**So the others are going to be alright, but Norman's in trouble. Next chapter we get to see inside Norman's head. Let me know what you thought!**


	9. Just a Bad Dream

**Sorry this is the longest it's taken me to update. It's not particularly long, but I promise the next chapter will be longer. Hope you enjoy it. I don't own anything I don't own.**

Norman had no idea where he was. It looked like a regular house, except it wasn't one that he recognized. Everything was in place as if someone had just moved in. Wherever it was it seemed that the war hadn't touched the house yet. He walked carefully through what he'd determined was the living room and examined the objects around him. There was a tiny little TV in the corner and the walls had been painted a beautiful blue that matched the color of the sky.

"Norman?" When he heard his name coming from the other room he rushed over, anxious to make sense of all this. The woman's voice came from the kitchen, where he could smell eggs being cooked over a stove. As he entered he saw the woman standing there and she turned around to face him.

"Emma." He knew it was her; all her features had been etched permanently into his brain. Her silky hair was much neater than it had been when they found her in that German house. There was a smile on her face and she looked just as perfect as he remembered her.

"Breakfast is ready," she told him, still with a bit of German in her voice. As she scooped portions of egg onto three plates she noticed the strange look on his face. "Is something wrong?"

"I don't understand. I was in Germany, in a prison camp." She came up to him and kissed him delicately on his cheek.

"The war is over, Norman," she whispered gently. "You were having a bad dream." He looked down at himself and saw he wasn't wearing his army uniform, instead he was dressed in a buttoned up shirt and slacks.

"Just a bad dream." A smile came on his face and he wrapped his arms around Emma, hugging her tightly.

"Sophia!" Before his eyes a little girl came running in with a doll in one hand. He noticed she had brown hair just like his, and Emma's glistening eyes.

"Hi Daddy," she said cheerily. Her arms extended outward and he picked her up, holding her as close as humanly possible.

"Good morning sweetheart." For a brief moment he thought he never wanted to let this precious girl go, maybe he could just hold her in his arms for eternity. But he put her down and everyone took a seat at the kitchen table.

"So Sophia, are you excited?" asked Emma. "You get to start kindergarten on Monday." Sophia looked down at her plate, losing her smile.

"What if the other kids don't like me?" Norman reached over and took her fragile hand, giving her a comforting grin.

"Everyone will love you," he promised. "How could they not?" That put Sophia back in a happy mood, all her teeth showing as she set her doll down next to her.

The three ate breakfast together for the next few minutes. There was no rush for any of them, no place to be except with each other. They talked of what they could do for the weekend and what everyone wanted for dinner that night. Norman remembered that on weekdays he was a schoolteacher, but he kept a typewriter in his office for those moments when he felt like writing. It started after the war when he felt the need to put into words his experiences.

"I'll take care of the dishes," Emma said when everyone was finished.

"Can I help?" asked Sophia, scooting out of her chair and bringing over her own plate. Like a little helper she handed over all the dishes and Emma started washing them in the sink. Norman felt peaceful for the first time in a while.

A tank shell burst through the wall suddenly and exploded just above the sink. Norman was rocketed out of his seat and he landed on his back, dazed. When he recovered he saw the girls lying on the ground as well, except they weren't moving. Emma looked as if someone had taken her body and broken it. Her hair was singed and her arm lying limp over her face. Sophia was covered in blood, her beautiful eyes staring at him in a permanent gaze of fear.

"Emma, Sophia!" he yelled, crawling over to them. He tried desperately to revive them, to shake them awake, but it was pointless. As he held his daughter in his arms he started to scream.

And just as it had appeared the entire house was gone. Norman found himself standing in the middle of a field, a soldier once more. The broken Fury was in front of him and there were bodies surrounding him on all sides. But what caught his attention was the four corpses lying straightened out only a few feet away. The crew of the Fury was dead.

"Been with these fine gentlemen for years." He wasn't sure where Don's voice was coming from, but it echoed loud and clear. "I need you to perform."

"Here's a Bible verse I think about sometimes." Bible's voice replaced that of the Sergeant. Many times. It goes: And I heard the voice of the Lord saying: Whom shall I send and who will go for Us? And I said: Here am I, send me!"

"Do your job, do what you're here for!" Gordo's yell nearly deafened him and he fell down to his knees. Then he heard Grady.

"The only reason you are not dead right now is because those men are my family and I'm not going to risk them. If anything should happen to any of them because of you I will break your neck." He forced himself to move over to his comrades and grabbed hold of Don's jacket.

"Wake up, Sarge!" he shouted. "Please, I can't do this without you! I'm not good enough." He felt himself being pulled off and saw American soldiers taking the bodies of his friends away. There was whispering all around and multiple eyes were glancing at him with quiet condemnation.

"Fury was one of the finest tank crews there ever was, and that kid killed them."

"What were they thinking, putting a puppy in a tank?"

The arms dragging him away faded, as did the bodies and the tanks and hating eyes. He was curled up in a ball with nothing around him but blackness. Everything was quiet, almost as if there was nobody left except for him.

"It's just a dream," he mumbled to himself. "Just a bad dream. Wake up." Only no matter how many times he tried saying it, he wasn't waking up.

**Just to clarify in case anyone's freaking out, Norman's not dead. He's just stuck in a weird nightmare place. Next chapter we'll see the rest of the crew again and hopefully it won't take me a week to update. Let me know what you thought.**


	10. Little Brother Machine

**Technically it has been just under a week, and this chapter is a good bit longer. Hope you enjoy it! I don't own anything I don't own.**

It had been a day since the planes had crashed and most of the camp's occupants had gotten back to usual business. The bodies had been disposed of and the wreckages torn apart for scraps. Several prisoners had been tasked with repairing the shed so the transport vehicle could still be fixed. But for the Fury crew things hadn't quite gone back to normal.

Grady had finally woken up in the late hours of yesterday. Thankfully he wasn't being given more work until the shed was rebuilt, because his ribs were making it very difficult to move. London had been able to help Bible enough that they could take him off the sedatives. His burns were sore but Don knew enough about surviving fire to assist him with managing the pain. The only problem was that Norman had still not shown any signs of recovery. He was still breathing, and occasionally his mouth would move as if he was talking. Faust had assigned a new prisoner to be his personal worker, a rugged man by the name of James. When Scar had suggested shooting Norman, Faust had strangely told him to wait a little while longer.

Bible was charged with performing last rites for another Nazi, so Don and Gordo were alone in the sun sorting the scraps of the wreckage. If it was still intact they'd put it in one cart that the other prisoners would come and take to be used another time. Everything that was too damaged went in another pile that would be taken out of camp and discarded. Most of the pieces weren't too heavy, but the heat beating down on them soon caused them to sweat from the continuous back and forth.

"This is bullshit man," Gordo whispered. "Whatever happened to the Geneva Convention? Lawful treatment of prisoners, adequate medical equipment, all that crap." Don laughed and dragged a charred piece of scrap over to the broken pile.

"No one's ever followed that," he told his comrade. "It was just a piece of paper so people could feel better about themselves. The Geneva Convention is overruled by the most basic statement of combat. All's fair in love and war."

"None of this is fair. They're working people into the ground. They don't want anyone to survive; they want an excuse to kill us all."

"That's how you piss them off," Don answered. "You live and you keep on living no matter how hard they want you to die."

"You think we're going to live?"

"I think our boys are on their way right now, slaughtering each and every German in sight on the road over."

"But what about us? The five of us."

"I can't promise they won't shoot us in the head before this place gets stormed by soldiers. I know that if I'm going out, I'm not making it easy for them. No fucking Nazis are putting me down without a fight." Gordo grinned at his Sergeant, his spirit bolstered. There were a lot of commanders he'd come across at base camps that were all talk. Plenty of times they'd put some pompous ass in charge who had no clue how to act when shit hit the fan. But Don Collier was the genuine article of leaders. They didn't come any better than Wardaddy.

"Sarge, I should take those dog tags from you," he offered. He knew if they were found they'd probably be severely punished, and Don was too valuable to the others to die.

"What are these for?" Don asked, pulling out one of the tags.

"Me and Bible, we're going to bring them to the families. It's the least they deserve." Wardaddy nodded and stowed it back in his pocket.

"I'm in."

"Sir, I don't think that's a good idea. If we get caught they might kill us."

"I'm still your commanding officer, Gordo. Your responsibilities are my own. Am I clear?" Gordo sighed and rubbed his temple.

"There's no reasoning with you, is there Sarge?"

"You should know the answer by now."

"Alright. We should finish with this junk." The two men continued their work, Don with the smirk of someone victorious. Sometimes the genuine article was a real pain in the ass.

As Don worked outside with Gordo, Grady hung around the medical tent by himself. If anyone asked him he'd say that he was making it easier for London in case he passed out again. Since he wasn't going back to work until the shed was done he was lingering about in relative silence. But London glanced over at him from time to time and each glance caught the same image. Grady couldn't stop looking over at Norman.

"Worried about him?" he asked. Grady scoffed and narrowed his eyes.

"Wondering if I should strangle him for being stupid."

"Come on Grady," London said knowingly. "I know this 'I hate everyone' front is important to you for some reason, but just admit it. Despite all your efforts you like the kid."

"No I don't. He's a helpless idiot that landed us in this spot to begin with. The plane was just karma." London shook his head and got back to work, realizing he'd get nowhere with a man like Grady.

In truth, Grady really didn't understand Norman. The kid had come to save him even after he'd threatened his life. Where he came from if someone threatened his life he'd be anxious for any opportunity to let them die. But Norman wasn't like that. He wasn't malicious or vindictive; he didn't like to hurt anyone. Most of them were hateful and bitter after being at war so long. They'd been in the tank with Norman for a few weeks and it was clear that he couldn't hate someone. He tried to hate the Nazis when he was around them so they would think he was tough like them, but Grady could tell it was just an act. Norman was innocent; the world hadn't ruined him yet.

No, he was weak. He'd gotten a whole tank full of men killed because he couldn't shoot a Nazi. If not for him Grady might be in some German town, getting under the skirt of a pretty little dame. He couldn't let Norman get under his skin. Except he kept thinking about the moment when he had pinned him against the wall of their cell. As he shook Norman and hit him and yelled at him, never once had he seen any anger. The kid's eyes were full of light, not darkness like so many other men. Maybe Grady was starting to get soft, but maybe the boy was supposed to be in that tank with them. At home he never had any siblings, especially not a little brother.

Norman's mouth started moving again and Grady leaned in close, trying to understand exactly what he was saying. His muscles twitched just tightly and his head turned from side to side as if he was in distress. Finally there was one word that Grady was able to make out. It was one he'd become accustomed to hear from Norman, sorry.

"Hey squirt, you got to fight through this," he said softly. "You're not going to die for me, understand? Wake up, alright? Wake up." As he spoke, Norman actually started to stir.

"Grady?"

"I'm right here. Come on, you're almost there." Norman's eyes fluttered open and he looked around in confusion.

"What happened?" he questioned. "Everything was dark and everything hurt."

"You got hit by a plane, kid."

"How am I alive?"

"You're one tough machine." As Grady helped Norman sit up, he called out, "London, I need a wet rag over here!" London became aware of Norman's awakening and his eyes widened.

"Holy shit, Norman." He hurriedly grabbed a rag and dunked it in a bucket full of water, handing it over to Grady.

"You shouldn't have done what you did, almost got yourself killed." It hurt Grady's broken fingers to hold the rag but he fought through it. He held Norman in place as he wiped the dried blood off his face, though it was clear Norman didn't like having his face cleaned.

"You're not going to kill me?"

"Maybe one of these days, but not today." When all the blood was gone there were still several cuts left. London started inspecting him as Grady waited right beside him.

"We weren't sure if you were going to come out of it," the medic confessed to Norman. "Do you feel alright? Can you breathe properly, can you see?" Norman tested all off his body's normal functions as London ran through them all.

"It's a little blurry. Everything aches a little bit." London took his hand and bent each of his fingers one by one, feeling his chest for any fractures.

"I must say you are lucky as hell. There's a lot of bruising, some gashes that need cleaning, but on the whole there doesn't seem to be any broken bones. Why don't you try standing up?" Grady assisted him in standing up, but once he was on his feet Norman moved alright. Though his thigh wound still hadn't quite healed his movements were almost back to normal.

London ran through a few more inspects and made sure all of the open wounds were clean before he was allowed to leave. Even though Norman could walk perfectly fine on his own Grady still went back to the cell with him to make sure. When they opened the door they saw their crewmates sitting there, and all eyes widened at the sight of Norman.

"Look who's still alive," Grady declared. Everyone was up and hugging Norman in a giant circle, Bible patting him on the back and Don tousling his hair.

"Man, someone up there loves you a lot," chimed in Gordo. Finally the group parted.

"Alright let's give him room to breathe." Everyone in the group sat back down on the floor, with the exception of Grady.

"In light of our boy's miraculous recovery," he told everyone, "I hereby christen you Machine!" The others cheered and chanted Machine as well, drawing a wide smile from Norman. Grady liked having these positive feelings, and he wished they would stay with him forever. But they wouldn't.

**I know that last sentence might have ruined it. It seemed to me like Grady's feelings toward Norman in the movie were back and forth and I wanted to reflect that, so I don't think all the negative is gone but it's getting a little better. What do you think about Don joining the dog tag collection, and the rejection of the Geneva Convention? I'm dragging this on a little so I'll wrap it up. Let me know what you thought!**


	11. The Best Medical Treatment

**Six days again, that's so weird. Oh well. This is kind of a filler but it's setting up some important parts. Hope you enjoy it! I don't own anything I don't own.**

One of London and Annette's patients was at serious risk of dying. The prisoner had been with several others working on building weapons for the German soldiers when he'd fallen behind. When Scar dragged him in he'd been covered with bruises and it appeared several of his bones were broken. The worst part was the blunt force trauma to the skull they were trying to relieve.

"Annette, set the bone on his leg," London told her. Today they weren't arguing, both were too focused on saving this prisoner. She grabbed the man's leg and worked and putting the bone back in its proper place so they could splint it.

"I need you to wrap the wound," she replied, handing him gauze. He delicately cleaned the part of his head where he'd been hit the most severely and dressed it with gauze. At the same time she started putting the splint on his leg.

"We'll need to roll him onto his side so he doesn't start to choke."

"I've almost got it on." As soon as the splint was applied London rolled the man onto his side. Seconds later vomit started pooling out of his mouth, though the prisoner wasn't reacting or responding at all. London opened both his eyes and saw that his pupils weren't the same size. This was worse than he'd thought.

"This is all very interesting," Scar interrupted, "but we don't have the resources to waste on one piece of shit."

"Then you shouldn't have done this to him," countered London.

"Will he be able to work or not?"

"It's not that simple," Annette answered. "It might take a couple of days for his head injury to heal and even with the splint his leg won't be able to work at full capacity for a little while."

"Simple enough for me," stated Scar. Before either could react he took out his pistol and shot their patient through the back of the head, splattering blood over London.

"You son of a bitch!" shouted London, going for Scar. He managed to get in two punches but Scar grabbed him and shoved him onto the ground.

"You're lucky that we need a second doctor or I'd put you on that operating table," the German warned. "I'll send someone in to clean this mess up." With that he was gone.

"Fuck!" London started punching anything in arms reach, venting all the rage that he had for the Nazis and for all the dead and for this fucked up situation he'd found himself in.

"There's nothing you could've done," whispered Annette. For the first time he found her attitude very irritating.

"None of this ever matters to you, does it? No one else's lives matter, only yours."

"You're wrong."

"Who do you care about besides yourself?"

"My sister." That quieted London and he stared at her in surprise.

"You have a sister?"

"You want to know my story?" she asked. "I was a nurse in Paris, and I lived with my younger sister Camille. I made good enough money to support us. Our life wasn't fancy but it was alright. Then these damn Nazis invaded my home. They destroyed homes, killed those I called my neighbors. Because of my experience with medicine they didn't harm me or Camille. But when the Americans and the British began to reclaim France, they started taking nurses out of the country to help with the war effort. It was against our will but we had to survive."

"I guess that explains why you hate all of us."

"I don't bear any ill will toward the Americans or the British. It helps me know that Camille is safe from the Germans. But she needs me. So I do the work that is required of me because I made her a promise that I would come back for her. When this war is over I'll return home and we'll live our regular lives again. My story doesn't end here." By the time her confession was over there were tears in Annette's eyes and she turned away from London to hide them.

"I understand," he said. "You have a family to go back to." He walked over to her and put a hand on her shoulder.

"I feel sorrow for every patient I can't save," confessed Annette. "I wonder if any of them made their own promise before they left for war."

"You're right, we can't save everyone. But we can't blame ourselves." Finally she turned back to them, wiping her tears away and with them wiping away her vulnerability.

"But we can save some. Let's get back to work." She started getting her supplies into place and London smirked, he'd cracked her walls now.

The shed had finally been repaired, so Grady was back to his usual job of working on the transport vehicle. He was actually starting to get used to doing it every day and the thought pissed him off. Fury should've been his routine, he should've slept and ate and breathed in that tank. He really missed being in his armored, Nazi killing home.

Standing over him was one of the other officers that aided Scar in monitoring the prisoners, Dietrich. Grady almost would've preferred Scar, he didn't like the way Dietrich kept looking at him. It was how he looked at a girl, how Gordo looked at beer, Boyd at his Bible. He'd heard stories from the others about Dietrich watching some of the prisoners working with their shirts off, even though he wasn't assigned to watch them. It was unnerving.

"Would you stop staring at me?" he demanded.

"Have to make sure you don't try anything," replied Dietrich. Such bullshit.

"Exactly what would I do? I'm in a shed and there are guards posted on all the walls."

"Just get back to work." Grady shook his head and worked on getting rid of all the dents that the vehicle had sustained when the shed collapsed. He could handle this shifty bastard, but he made a mental note to keep Dietrich away from all of his crewmates.

Norman didn't know what to expect when he walked into Faust's quarters for the first time in two days. He remembered that Faust had ordered him to stay put, so he wasn't sure if he'd be punished or not. But as soon as he strolled through the door he saw another man working for Faust, cleaning the floor. That didn't stop Faust from standing up to greet him.

"Norman, I'm glad to see you made a full recovery," the officer told him with a smile.

"Sir, have I been reassigned?" asked Norman. Faust glanced over at James, who stopped what he was doing.

"Oh, not at all," Faust explained. "I had tasks I needed doing in your absence and James has filled that slot. Your services will no longer be needed James." Two shots fired from his pistol into James, causing Norman to fall to his knees.

"Why did you do that?"

"James was working for me because he had an ankle fracture. He wouldn't be fit for any other job. So he wasn't needed anymore. Death is the best medical treatment." Norman got to his feet.

"Screw you, you psychopath!" Faust wrapped a hand around Norman's throat and pinned him to the wall.

"You are alive only by my doing. I could have let them shoot you while you were lying injured on a hospital bed. Do not test my patience." He released Norman and Norman coughed violently as he tried to catch his breath.

Bible was the one called in to take James' body away and he gave a nod to Norman, somehow the small smile on his face made Norman feel a little better. But then he did something odd; when Faust wasn't looking Bible took James' tag and hid it in his pocket. By the time Faust was watching again Bible was dragging James outside. His finger discreetly pressed to his lips, telling Norman not to say a word. So Norman stared down at the ground and waited for Bible to leave, confused as to what was going on. But he'd gotten used to not understanding the rest of the crew.

Don had taken the body of the injured prisoner and he met Bible over at the disposal site, both of them with their assigned corpses. Bible had a look of concern on his face that Don didn't like.

"What's the matter?"

"Faust shot James in front of Norman. I came in to take the body but he saw me take the tag." Don had grabbed the prisoner's tag, but it was too dangerous for Norman. He spent so much time around Faust that it was nearly impossible for him to get caught if he knew too much.

"Let me talk to him."

"We can't tell him what's going on or he'll want in on it."

"I know, just let me handle it." Don knew exactly what to say to Norman. If there was one person they wouldn't put in danger it was their boy. Never.

**Sorry some of these parts were kind of short, like I said there's some important stuff coming up eventually. Next chapter there's going to be some Wardaddy and Norman. What do you think about Annette's history and creepy Dietrich? Let me know what you thought.**


	12. Integrity

**This chapter isn't particularly long, but I'm still building toward some important moments. Hope you enjoy it! I don't own anything I don't own.**

Once again Gordo was thinking about how good it would feel to kill Scar. The Mexican and African American prisoners were being forced to discard the charred bones of those who had been burnt. Each of them couldn't help but look at each bone and wonder if had belonged to someone they knew. Among the soldiers watching them was the sadistic Scar, the racist enjoying every moment of his personal show.

"Pick up the pace!" he shouted. Finally Gordo had enough and he threw his bone on the ground.

"You're a coward," spat Gordo. "You think you're a man because you can stand behind your guards and your gun and work prisoners into the ground. But you wouldn't be half as bold if you fought someone man to man." Scar handed over his pistol to one of the other Nazis and removed his hat.

"And you think you're the man to fight me?"

"I am." Scar smirked and stepped forward.

"No one is to interfere. We'll see if the Mexican is able to back up his words." The prisoners had frozen and their eyes were locked on Gordo, examining him as if they were already seeing him as a pile of bones.

Gordo threw the first punch and it connected with Scar's jaw. Scar seemed genuinely surprised that he had actually been hit, but it was only for a second. When he struck he aimed for Gordo's gut and doubled the man over. That gave him the chance to bring his knee up into Gordo's face and knock him to the ground. Gordo scrambled to his feet and charged at Scar, taking them both down to the ground. From there he unleashed an onslaught of punches as hard as he could. But Scar managed to kick him off and stood up. The fight was practically over from there. His foot slammed into Gordo's torso repeatedly and every time Gordo tried to get up Scar punched him back down again. When Gordo had no energy left to get up Scar retrieved his pistol.

"Does anyone else have doubts about my leadership capabilities?" Gordo was prepared for a shot to the head to end it, but instead Scar told him, "I'll have a great deal of fun breaking you."

"You'll never turn me into a monster like you," he replied. "We're not like you."

"You think these men are better than us?" Scar openly laughed and dragged Gordo to his feet. "Bring five of them forward." The soldiers took five of the prisoners and pushed them over.

"What are you doing?" demanded Gordo.

"Well gentlemen, this man here insinuates you still have honor and integrity. Let's see if that's true. The last man standing among you five gets a fresh pair of clothes and a tray of food from the officers' kitchen. But if no one throws a blow in fifteen seconds then you all go back to your cells wanting."

It took only three seconds for one of the prisoners to punch another in the throat. They were on top of each other like animals, clawing and biting and hitting anyone that wasn't them. One even gouged out another's eye. Gordo watched it all with horror and disgust, unable to process his fellow Americans doing this to each other for food and clothing.

"If a dog's hungry enough," explained Scar, "it'll rip out the throat of anything in its way. The price of integrity's one these men don't want to pay. I guess you stand alone." Eventually there was a winner, covered in the blood of the others, and he was taken to get his hard fought prize. The four corpses were dragged away, soon to become more bones to dispose of.

Don was waiting for Norman when the boy entered the cell. Norman seemed to have a mess of emotions, sadness from the death he'd witnessed and confusion from Bible and relief that Don was there. A slight hiss came from his lips as he slid down to the ground, the pressure on his leg relieving itself.

"Your leg getting any better?" asked Don.

"A little bit," Norman answered. "It still hurts when I'm on it for too long. I think it's better than it was though."

"Good. I'm sure it'll be back to normal eventually." Both could read the other's face and tell that there was a conversation they needed to have.

"Sir, did Bible say anything to you about dog tags?"

"Come here, let's have a talk." Norman scooted over to the other side of the cell next to Don. "I already know about the dog tags."

"But what are they for? Wouldn't you get in trouble if Faust knew?"

"Look, this is something very dangerous. It's something that we want to keep a secret."

"I'm not just a child, sir. I can handle it."

"The more people that know about what we're doing the bigger the chance that someone will find out. You don't want the Krauts to find out, do you?"

"Of course not." Don cupped a hand around Norman's neck and looked him directly in the eye.

"Do you trust me, Norman?"

"With my life, sir." The answer was direct and without hesitation, just what Don was hoping to hear.

"All I'm asking," he whispered. "is for you to say nothing about what you saw. I promise that this is best for you and best for all of us. You understand?" Norman nodded and Don patted him on the cheek.

"Can I ask you a question Sarge?" questioned Norman.

"You can ask whatever you want," Don replied. "Doesn't mean I'll answer."

"How come you've never said anything about yourself? I don't know where you come from or what your family's like or anything like that."

"Some men don't like talking about themselves, Norman. Especially if they're soldiers."

"I don't have any problem with it. I live in San Francisco with my dad. He's a Senator, so he has a big house."

"I'm one of the men that don't like talking." Norman took the hint and put his head down. Just to make him feel better, Don added, "But I used to live in Oregon." A tiny little smile appeared on Norman's face, it was enough for now.

Bible wouldn't figure out that he'd dropped a dog tag until a few hours later. They'd reason that it fell out of his very stuffed pockets. But in those few hours it was lying on the ground looking completely out of place. As misfortune would have it, the man to discover the tag would be Faust. He recognized the name from one of the prisoners he'd shot, and it was supposed to be burnt with the body. This simply wouldn't do.

"Get the word around," he told Scar. "These prisoners are playing us for fools. Make sure everyone knows that any prisoner who comes forward with information about suspicious activity will be given a reward. It's time to stop playing fair."

**Oops, now Faust knows someone has dog tags. Sorry Bible has been somewhat sidelined the last few chapters but I'll try to include him more in the next update. Just out of curiosity because Scar's done something to all of my good guys except Annette, who do you guys think should kill Scar if given the opportunity? Also what do you think about Gordo's bravery and Don's heart to heart with Norman? I'll update soon!**


	13. Unwise Decisions

**Thanks for all the feedback! Next chapter is super important and kind of messed up, but this one's got some important parts too. Hope you enjoy it! I don't own anything I don't own.**

"So what do we do now?" That was the question Bible asked as the three tag collectors sat in the cell together. By now word had spread that someone was taking dog tags and everyone around camp was watching for the guilty party that had taken them. The three of them were disgusted that all it took was a tiny little reward to turn people against each other but at this point everyone was cold and starving enough to do anything.

"If any of us get caught we're fucked," Gordo pointed out. "Scar's looking for any good reason to shoot us through the head."

"Probably because you keep pissing him off."

"Okay, enough," declared Don. "As tough as it might be, we might have to stop taking the dog tags for a little while."

"I won't do that." Both Don and Gordo stared at Bible, whose conviction was unwavering even with their eyes on him.

"Perhaps you don't understand all the bad shit that will happen to us if someone turns us in," chimed in Gordo.

"I understand what I'm risking," Bible replied. "I'm the one that dropped that tag and got us in this mess, I'm the one that's going to keep collecting the tags, and if I have to face consequences they'll be mine to face alone."

"What we're trying to do here is noble, and I get that you want to give these men respect. But there's no point to it if you get yourself killed in the process."

"Don, please." Once again Don paused as his first name was used, Bible's voice sounding urgent. "This isn't just about giving them the respect they deserve, I mean it's part of it but not all. I've been trying to keep my head since the day we got in here, to stay calm and keep it together. Saving these tags, it makes me feel like I'm doing some kind of good in here. Like I get to say 'fuck you' to the damn Nazis and spit in their faces. I can't give that up, even if it kills me." The other two were quiet for a moment; they never knew the deeper meaning for Bible to do what he did.

"If you're willing to give your life for this," Don told him, "I doubt there's much that I can do to stop you. Gordo, you'll have to leave it to us for a little while. They'll be looking at you especially because of their Aryan ideas."

"Us, sir?" questioned Bible.

"Like it or not, we were bound together the moment we stepped foot into the same vehicle. This might be your burden, but there's no way I'll let you carry it alone."

"Thank you Sarge." Perhaps it was a burden that brought men together, or perhaps there were some that were born to be brothers.

Norman was trying to go back to normal with his work in Faust's office. He scrubbed down the desk as Faust watched; amused that he could observe someone cleaning for him. His eyes began to wander around the desk as he had to move some of Faust's possessions to clean under them. When he moved around to the other side to wipe down the drawers he saw one had been left partially open. Inside he could see one of the dog tags.

"Sir, why do you have a dog tag?" he inquired nervously.

"I thought everyone had heard," Faust replied nonchalantly. "Some naughty prisoner has been keeping a secret from the rest of us. When we find out who, they're going to be severely punished."

"Killed?"

"Perhaps. Back to your work." Norman nodded and kept going, though on the inside his brain was racing. This was why they didn't want him to know, because they knew that it was dangerous. It didn't seem like Faust had any suspicion as to who it was, but the crew couldn't keep the secret hidden forever.

"Officer Faust," called one of the soldiers, rushing in. "You've been requested in the armory." Faust glanced over at Norman.

"I'm required elsewhere. I trust you won't do anything stupid for the few minutes I'm gone. This desk better be spotless when I return."

As soon as he was alone Norman went back to eyeing the tags. Sergeant Collier had told him not to ask questions about what they were doing, but he never said Norman couldn't help. His fingers curled around the tags and before he knew what he was doing he'd placed them deep in his pocket. Well, he was involved now.

Later that day Gordo had been sent to clean up the medical tent again. If it wasn't cleaned every couple of days the filth from the several injured patients would start to get out of control. London and Annette worked around him as he cleaned, though it didn't take long before there wasn't anyone else coming in. As he wiped away some of the blood that had been left behind his body was still aching from his fight with Scar and it was becoming apparent to London.

"Gordo, you doing alright?" the medic asked with concern.

"I'm fine, just a little sore," answered Gordo. London took notice of the cuts that he'd gotten from getting knocked to the ground and punched so many times.

"If those cuts get infected you're not going to be fine." He patted one of the tables and instructed, "Have a seat, I'll take care of those."

"I shouldn't stop cleaning."

"We're the only ones in here. Annette, are you going to tell on him?" She shook her head and Gordo reluctantly sat on the table so London could do his job.

"What does it matter to you anyway?"

"Well I wouldn't have signed up to be a medic if I had no interest in helping people," London explained. "Besides, we are cellmates." He put some of the antibacterial solution on a cloth and started dabbing it all over Gordo's face, causing Gordo to hiss in pain.

"Shit, that hurts!"

"You know what hurts worse?" inquired London. "An infection. Stop bitching and let me finish." He'd been through five years of service for the British military and every soldier was the same. They could take a bullet through the shoulder just fine and they'd put on a tough front in the field, but the moment they needed medical care they turned into children.

"What happened to your crew?" Gordo asked.

"Dead."

"I know that. How'd they die, how'd you end up here?" London finished cleaning the cuts and tossed the rag aside, his normally upbeat demeanor extinguished.

"German tank, a Tiger," he finally answered. "We were on our way to the rendezvous point when it came out of nowhere. First blast took out our commanding officer and two others. The rest of us scrambled to outrun it, but the second shot got everyone else. I ran and ran until I couldn't hear the wheels turning anymore. A German patrol caught me on my way to the rendezvous and brought me here."

"I'm sorry man," Gordo said. "We lost our assistant driver a month ago."

"I thought Norman was your assistant driver."

"Norman was the replacement. Come on, you think the kid's been in war for that long?"

"So what happened to your crew?"

"I think we might've fought your Tiger. Took four tanks to blow the damn thing up, and we were the only one left. After that a landmine disabled our baby and we got caught too."

"I hope it was the same Tiger. I hope every Nazi in there burned alive." Gordo got back up and grabbed his cleaning supplies.

"Well, now we're all here," he stated. "But it's not the end. Thanks for the help." He extended his hand and London took it.

"Anytime."

**Now you know the background of London, and Norman's not being very wise. I realized while writing this that Norman's main interactions have been with Don and Grady, so I want him to have moments with the others. Which would you rather see, Norman and Bible or Norman and Gordo? Let me know what you thought, next chapter's really important!**


	14. Dietrich

**Here's the important chapter. I hope you like it but I'm not sure if that's possible.**

**Warning: It gets kind of rough in this one.**

There were very few times when Norman had been completely alone during his time in the camp. Faust rarely left him in the quarters by himself, and soldiers would always escort him back to his cell where usually at least one of his friends was waiting. But as Faust was gone to handle an issue in the armory, Norman was polishing the desk like he was told and there was no one around to see. As it turned out, he only needed to be alone for a few minutes for things to go horribly wrong.

Don and Bible were the first to notice that something was off. They had a direct view of Faust's quarters from where they were working and they watched him leave with another soldier. For some reason the two were heading for the armory, even though there weren't many people still working there at this time of day. A moment after they started to notice a group of Nazis hovering near the quarters, among them Dietrich.

"I don't like the look of this Sarge," Bible told him quietly. Don shared his uneasiness as they kept glancing over at Dietrich and his comrades.

"We need to get the others." If something happened the two of them weren't enough to contend with Dietrich's group. "You find Grady, I'll get Gordo."

At first Norman didn't think anything of it when Dietrich's group walked into the quarters and shut the door. There had been plenty of times when Nazis wanted to speak with Faust and Norman had just been a coincidental audience. So he kept polishing the desk.

"Faust isn't here. He had to go take care of something." That was when he heard the sound of curtains being pulled shut and saw the Nazis advancing.

"We know," Dietrich whispered with a snake-like smile. "We wanted you all alone, little Norman." Now Norman started to back up, looking around for some kind of help even though he knew there was none.

"What do you want?"

"When you're in war there are so many things you miss," the German told him softly. There were eight in total, and it was clear they were trying to form a circle around him. He attempted to run but two Nazis grabbed a hold of him and pinned his arms.

"Let go of me." It didn't come out as forceful as he wished, instead he sounded afraid.

"Do you know what I miss, Norman?" asked Dietrich. "I miss the touch of another person. I find myself craving it so often, I find myself feeling such desire that I could hardly contain it." His hand delicately touched Norman's cheek even though the boy struggled to escape.

"Help, somebody help!" Dietrich's hand clamped over Norman's mouth and muffled his cries of terror.

"Now, now, we'll have none of that." At that moment Norman elbowed one of the men holding him and kicked Dietrich, throwing blows at every Nazi that was within his reach. But it didn't take long for the eight to assault him with a barrage of punches until he was down on the ground.

"Little bastard has some fight in him," commented one of the other Nazis. They continued to hit him and he was too hurt to fight back against all of them. Though he tried to defend himself every time he moved his hands another part of him would get kicked. Finally Dietrich yanked the half-conscious American back up.

"Help," Norman choked out, barely audible. His pathetic attempt to speak caused laughter among the Nazis.

"There's no one to help you, no one to protect you. You belong to us now, Norman. And we'll take turns having our fun with you. And then we'll kill you." His hands started running up and down Norman's chest, his grin growing wider with each second.

Don rushed into the medical tent, almost out of breath. Immediately all three of the occupants looked over at him with confusion. Gordo stopped cleaning and moved over to his Sergeant, clapping him on the shoulder.

"What's the matter Sarge?"

"Something's wrong," Don explained. "Norman's alone in the officer's quarters, and there's a group of krauts circling the building." This caused Annette's eyes to widen and she pushed Gordo out of her way to get to Don.

"Was Dietrich one of them?"

"Yeah, why?" Annette grabbed him and pointed out the door.

"You need to go get Norman now," she said urgently. "Dietrich is one of the men I warned you about." As soon as it clicked with Don the man was sprinting back the way he came. Gordo and London followed after him, ready to fight.

"Stay here," London told Annette, not wanting her to get hurt. Then they were gone.

Faust walked briskly up to the armory with the soldier who'd retrieved him trailing behind. He didn't like leaving Norman all alone with his possessions, but whatever this issue was couldn't take that long. When he pushed the armory doors open he saw that everyone was working just as they were supposed to do.

"Sir, what are you doing here?" asked one of the soldiers. All the prisoners temporarily froze at the sight of the man they knew could decide to shoot them at any moment.

"I was told there was a problem here."

"There hasn't been a problem today, sir. Our workers are moving at full capacity." At closer inspection this did seem to be true. Nothing really was out of place, which didn't make sense.

"Why was I told there was an issue?" he demanded, turning around to face the soldier who'd called him away. To his surprise, there was no longer anyone there. The soldier had slipped away.

Norman still felt weak from the beating, and his head was fuzzy from smacking it on the ground, but he knew what was happening. There were tears in his eyes as he was forcibly bent over Faust's desk by Dietrich. The other seven were watching intently and chuckling at the sight of Norman's helpless state. Dietrich's hand reached around and unzipped Norman's pants before he did the same to his own.

"Are you ready, Norman?" he inquired, the delight in his tone sickening.

The next second, Norman felt Dietrich being pulled off of him and he sank to the floor again. Bible and Grady had burst into the building and they were furiously pummeling the Nazis. Even the normally passive Bible was enraged and slamming a soldier's head on the floor repeatedly.

"You twisted Jerry sons of bitches!" yelled Grady, wrapping his hands around the throat of Dietrich. However, he and Bible were forced on the ground when each was attacked by three Nazis. Dietrich got to his feet once more and brushed himself off.

"Hold them down. We have more playmates when we're finished with the boy." He turned his attention back to Norman, who was sitting on the ground trembling.

"You will not lay a hand on my crew," stated Don, entering the quarters with Gordo and London. Bible and Grady fought again while assisted by the others. Don swiped a knife from one of the Nazis and gutted him with it. It became a sickening display as most of the soldiers were beaten and beaten until their faces were bloody.

Norman had retreated into his mind where he felt safe, though he could still feel the fear that was causing him to shake uncontrollably. He was vaguely aware of Bible zipping up his pants and then pulling his hands away quickly as if to show he meant no harm. The religious man didn't himself believe in killing a man so brutally, if he was required to kill he'd do it swiftly and cleanly. That said, he did nothing to intervene as the Nazis who tried to rape his younger brother were beaten to death by the others.

"What is going on in here?" Faust had returned with another group of soldiers, each armed and aiming at the Americans. Dietrich's seven followers had been slaughtered but he himself was not dead yet.

"These fuckers were trying to rape Norman!" Grady had no fear as he took a step forward to face Faust. The officer looked at Dietrich in shock; this was something that he hadn't been aware of.

"Sir, we must kill these Americans," demanded Dietrich. "They have spilled German blood. Aryan blood."

"Kill us if you want," Don said calmly, "but that boy is ours and no one will harm a hair on his head."

"Sir, you can't be listening to these-" Dietrich's protests were cut off when Faust shot him through the head and his corpse dropped to join the seven others.

"I'd like to thank you gentlemen," Faust said, regaining his composure. "The Aryan race had no place for homosexuals and you took care of them for us. Take him and return to your cell. No further work will be required of any of you today." It seemed that was all that mattered to Faust, German pride.

"Come on, stand up." Norman came out of his head when he registered Don's voice gently urging him to move. Several strong arms lifted him up and Don held him close as the group of six exited the quarters with their lives still not ended yet.

In the cell, Don carefully took a seat without ever taking both his hands off of Norman. He felt so much pity, so much anger as he felt the severity with which Norman's whole body just shook. Dietrich deserved such a more painful death but at least no one ever had to worry about him again.

"I got you," he whispered. "They can't hurt you anymore, we made sure of that. We'll never let anyone do that to you."

This wasn't the talk of a soldier or a Sergeant, it was the words of family. Norman didn't know if it was the words of a brother or a father or an uncle, but it was family all the same. Gordo, who would jump into a fight for him without a second's thought. Grady, whose rage could be a good thing when they were on the same side. Bible, whose caring parental nature always put his wellbeing at the forefront of his actions. And especially Don, who made him feel safer than he'd felt in a long time and gave him words of comfort that meant everything. He really did trust these men with his life and now he remembered why. After a while he fell asleep in the exact same spot, one of Don's hands around his shoulders and the other gently placed on his head. The group had formed a circle around the boy to sleep in, and would never let it break.

**Don't hate me for what I almost let happen because it didn't, and there's a lot of crew love at this moment. I feel bad that the only gay character in the whole story is a rapist, but that was not intentional. I didn't think Bible would beat someone to death so I had him take care of Norman instead. What do you guys think of Faust, is he really about German pride or does he genuinely care about Norman by this point? Let me know what you thought.**


	15. Confessions of Scarred Men

**I know this is the longest I've gone without updating, but hopefully you guys can forgive a day or two because of the holidays. After last chapter's incident, we get to have some more heart to heart in this one. Hope you enjoy it! I don't own anything I don't own.**

It was late the next morning and no one had come to get Norman or Gordo. The others had been assigned jobs for the day, but it seemed that they'd been forgotten. For Norman it worked out. He was perfectly comfortable just hiding in their cell for the rest of his existence. In here he still believed that no one would hurt him, but he definitely wasn't safe out there.

"Are you doing better?" Gordo asked him gently.

"No." Gordo scooted closer to the kid and put a comforting hand on his leg.

"You don't have to worry. Everything will turn out okay." Norman looked over at him with an expression of embarrassment.

"It wasn't anything like Emma," he whispered. "I still miss her, Gordo." It all started to make sense; Norman couldn't stop thinking about the girl that he loved. She was probably his first.

"Do you want to know why I've been with so many women in this war?" Gordo inquired. Norman had to admit he had been curious why Gordo and Grady seemed to have sex with a different woman every city they stopped in.

"Why?"

"I can't have any kids, Norman. Before the war I had a girl, she was everything you could ask for. I wanted a child so bad and so did she. But every time we tried it didn't work. So I talked to my doctor and he told me I'd never have kids of my own. My girl, she left me after that."

"Just because you couldn't have kids?"

"I guess that was more important to her than the man she ended up with. So it doesn't matter what skirt I sleep with now. No chance of anything happening. And when I die, I'm leaving nothing behind but a pile of corpses." There was a long moment where neither could say anything, and then Norman found his voice again.

"What about Grady?"

"Grady's just horny when he gets drunk," Gordo told him. "He shouldn't even wear a belt so his pants could come down faster."

"You are leaving something behind," the boy stated. "Maybe you'll meet a good woman and she'll love you but maybe you won't. Either way it doesn't matter. You could die tomorrow and people would still remember you as a good man."

"Who, Norman?" asked Gordo. "Most of the guys outside our unit, all they knew me as was the Mexican. Who's going to remember who I was?"

"Don will. Bible and Grady will. I will. Here lies Trini Garcia, a man with the biggest pair in the whole military." Both started laughing hard, as if they had been holding it in for days and it was bursting out now.

"I like it."

"I wonder what it would say on my tombstone." Gordo put an arm around Norman.

"We won't have to wonder for a long time," he promised. "But if I had my way, it would say 'Norman Ellison was only 17 but he was already more of a man than most will ever be. Let all who read this know he was named Machine.'"

"I love that name," admitted Norman, which made Gordo smile even more.

Don was back in the medical tent sweeping and the two medics were just lounging about casually. London was busy tending to cuts on his knuckles that he'd gotten from beating one of the Nazis to death. Annette kept glancing over at the Brit, something hiding in her eyes that seemed possibly like infatuation. But then she was looking at Don and it was gone.

"Is the boy alright?" she asked him.

"At least physically." It was the best answer he could give that was true. He knew that it would take Norman time before he could eventually be the same again and everyone would give him that time. The important thing was that they were all still together and they trusted each other.

"Good," said Annette.

"I can take care of your hands next, Don," London offered, which Don accepted with a nod.

"I can't express how much I appreciate your help. You didn't have to help us or Norman."

"It's not a hard choice for me. I like the kid and I like the rest of you. Besides, there aren't a whole lot of Normans left in the world." The sentiment behind it was clear and all three understood it completely.

"No there aren't."

Bible had decided he was going to take a detour on his way back to his cell today, so he ended up walking across camp. As it so happened he ended up near the shed where Grady was working. He poked his head in the door to check for Nazis, finding none supervising. Grady seemed to register his presence as he entered.

"Hey Bible."

"You got no one watching you today?" Grady looked around as if only just realizing he was alone.

"Guess not. Dietrich was assigned here, but he's supervising in hell now." Something about that sentence struck Bible as particularly bitter, and it worried him.

"Are you okay, Grady?" he inquired. Grady finally stopped tinkering with the transport vehicle and sat down on the floor.

"I am pretty fucking far from alright," was his answer. "I don't understand. I don't understand how people can be so cruel or heartless like Dietrich or Scar or Faust. I don't know if I love Norman or hate him and it pisses me off. Where I come from I always knew if I hated a person. My pa told me I could punch whoever I wanted, so long as I did it for the right reasons."

"That explains a lot about you," chimed in Bible, but Grady didn't pay much attention.

"But we killed hundreds of fucking Germans and I don't even know if I hate them or not. I didn't even know any of them. I'm so tired of it. I'm tired of not understanding anything about where I am or why. I'm tired of sometimes finding grease on my fingers and sometimes finding blood. Why the hell was I even in that tank?"

"You were in that tank because we needed you. And we still do."

"You didn't need me. All I did was hand you the shells, Gordo knows how to fix the damn tank. I was the dumbest jackass in that tank, now I'm the dumbest jackass here."

"Grady, you're not stupid and you're not a bad man," Bible snapped. "I don't think any of us know what got us here. Dietrich and Scar and Faust, they're bad people. We're good people that have done bad things." Grady looked up at him in sadness and confusion.

"How do you tell the difference?"

"Why did you shoot the Germans you saw, Grady?"

"Because I knew they wouldn't hesitate in shooting the rest of you."

"That's how you tell the difference. Bad men do terrible things for greed or hatred; you were protecting your brothers." He pulled Grady up and clapped him on the shoulder.

"Bible, I think I want to pray," Grady confessed.

"Okay," Bible replied, somewhat surprised. "Take my hands. I'll start and you can come in whenever you feel ready." Grady listened to the request and Bible began, "Dear Lord, our Father in Heaven, thank you for this day you have granted us. Please let us be mindful of all our blessings and let us keep you in our hearts."

"And please forgive us for that which we have done and what we might do in the future. Please protect us and our brothers, give us strength to fight through this test we have been placed in. I know it might seem like I don't believe in you sometimes, but I do and I'm grateful for you. In Christ's name, amen."

"Amen," finished Bible. "God's smiling down at you today, Grady."

**Yay, sadness turns into smiles! Eventually I'm planning on having some Norman and Bible because there hasn't been enough of that but I liked Norman and Gordo. Do you guys think London's becoming a part of the group? Let me know what you thought!**


	16. Faust's Secret

**Not a lot of opening notes to go with this one. There's some important things we learn in this one, but I won't spoil the surprise. Hope you enjoy it! I don't own anything I don't own.**

A lot of new punishments had been enacted recently to stretch the prisoners to fresh limits of pain. Scar had pitched the idea that the more pain they could create without actually killing their prisoners, the more of an example they would serve to keep the others out of trouble. Though it had been enough to convince Faust everyone knew that it didn't serve its intended purpose. Scar just increased the punishments to satisfy his own sadistic fantasies on his helpless victims.

For the third time Gordo had been unwise enough to resist against Scar's obsession with humiliation. This time, however, Grady had been present for the display of rebellion. Like a loyal soldier he'd backed up Gordo and earned the full wrath of Scar. The both of them had been locked in the freezer where they stored the meat, and they weren't allowed to be released until Scar decided he was satisfied.

"You're an idiot, Grady," stated Gordo. Now that was a sentence Grady was familiar with hearing. His father, the other kids at school, even some of his teachers throughout the years. And each time he heard it his answer was always the same.

"Depends on your perspective."

"You didn't have to get yourself in the middle. It wasn't your fight." Grady chuckled wryly and smirked.

"Gordo, you still haven't learned after all this time? We all have the same fight. No matter what happens, you never have to fight alone." He was noticeably shivering from the cold temperature and Gordo rolled his eyes.

"Then at least take my jacket so you don't freeze to death," Gordo insisted. "Although if you passed out I might finally get some peace and quiet."

"You don't even have a shirt, jackass," replied Grady with his usual charm. "You trying to kill yourself?"

Gordo moved as close to Grady as he could, hoping that they could warm each other up. It didn't feel uncomfortable for the two of them. They'd spent much longer squished together when they were in Fury, nowhere to go unless they wanted to risk a bullet through the head.

"These krauts are stupid," Grady said smugly. "This ain't even the coldest we been. Remember January, when we were in France? Had to spend the whole night in the tank all huddled up together. Lieutenant over in the next tank lost two of his fingers." Gordo tuned in and out of Grady's rant, mostly just making sure that the man was still talking. There weren't many people who could understand Grady's consistent need to speak, but Gordo knew. Grady always talked because it let him know that he was still alive, that he was functioning and well. No matter how annoying it was Gordo would never take that away from him.

After several minutes of waiting for their punishment to finally be over, Grady's eyes started to wander. There wasn't really much to see in the freezer, stored meat, metal walls, a tile floor. But on a passing glance he did notice something sticking out of Gordo's coat pocket. It was the broken chain of a dog tag. He knew that the Nazis had started searching for someone who'd been stealing dog tags, but he hadn't guessed that Gordo could ever be that crazy. If someone else saw the tag then Gordo would likely get shot. While Gordo wasn't paying attention, Grady carefully looped his fingers around the chain and pulled the tag out. He didn't notice any change of expression in his friend, so he stuffed it in his pants pocket. Like he said before, no brother of his would ever fight alone.

Norman didn't like the feeling he had when he looked into Faust's office. It had always felt a little unsettling, but there was something else to it now. He wasn't quite sure how to describe it. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, apprehensive of something else bad happening.

His anxiety wasn't helped by the fact that Faust was once again absent. He wanted to walk right out the door and run back to his cell to hide in the safety of the others. But his attention was caught a second time by the bookshelf that he had helped to organize days ago. The same book tempted him, appealed to his curiosity like it was whispering to him to uncover its secret. Curiosity won over fear, drawing him into the office and over to the bookshelf.

The book of fairy tales was covered with a thin layer of dust, the hardback cover flimsy as if he could easily tear it off with his bare hands. He tried to flip through it as quickly as he could in case Faust decided to come in and have Sarge beaten again. Naturally he couldn't understand a single word that was written, but the pictures seemed the same as the ones he'd been shown when he was a little kid. It seemed odd that a Nazi officer would have a children's book among his possessions, or at least it did until he noticed the front cover. There was some kind of message scribbled in German on the inside.

"Lieber Vater," he read, "ich hoffe, dass dieses Buch seinen Weg zurück zu Ihnen. Ich noch lesen Sie die Gesichten, die Sie gelesen zu mir, als ich ein Junge war. Sie helfen mir von dir denken, wenn ich fürchte. Bitte haben Sie Verständnis muss ich dies tun. Ich muss unsere Heimat mit meinen Brüdern zu verteidigen. Wenn ich sterbe, weiβ, dass ich sterben für Deutschland. Ich liebe dich Vater."

"You read German well for an American," said Faust as he entered, causing Norman to jump.

"Sir, please, I didn't mean to pry," Norman began. Faust held up a hand to prevent him from going any further.

"Dear Father," he stated, and Norman immediately understood. "I hope this book finds its way back to you. I still read the stories that you read to me when I was a boy. They help me think of you when I'm afraid. Please understand I must do this. I must defend our home with my brothers. If I should die, know that I die for Germany. I love you Father."

"Your son wrote this." Faust merely nodded, taking the book from an unresisting Norman's hands.

"He was a member of Hitler Youth, sixteen years old. His mother begged him not to go, I begged my superiors not to let him go, but our pleas fell on deaf ears. It was fourteen months ago that the book was delivered to me. They recovered it from his camp, where a group of soldiers had come through and slit every last throat while they slept. I wish my boy had died in his sleep like the others, but he'd volunteered for patrol that night. He was awake when one of the enemies strangled him to death."

"That's horrible." Faust took a seat at his desk, his knees suddenly too weak to hold him.

"I believed so much in the German cause at the beginning," he told Norman. "It spoke to me; spoke to my beliefs and my desires. I believed that if I served I could provide such a life for my family. But I don't know what I believe anymore. How could any nation be right in sacrificing boys for a purpose that none of us know anymore? We all pretend to know what war is and why we're fighting, but the truth is that there isn't a man on Earth who has a real answer. Men can die; men can volunteer their lives and stain their hands with a stranger's blood, but not boys. They haven't even gotten the chance to live yet and this war has taken that chance away from them."

"So why are you still here?" asked Norman. Faust rose and drew near with a look of fury in his eyes.

"Because of them," he spat, gesturing outside. "They are the men that killed my one and only child. They took my future away. And I will make them suffer every last drop until there is nothing left." Norman cowered, afraid of being hit, but instead Faust continued, "You look very much like him. The same innocence, naivety. The same look of fear that he had when they found him, the same look he'll always have on his face. Except for his eyes, he had his mother's eyes."

"Do you have a job for me to do today?" An amused smile crept onto Faust's lips and he patted Norman on the cheek affectionately.

"You're a good boy, Norman. But it never lasts. You can start today by sweeping, the floor's getting dirty again."

**Now we finally know why Faust is so evil. I honestly think Scar's just an ass. And now the entire Fury crew is in possession of at least one dog tag, I'm considering whether to involve London or Annette. For all the Wardaddy lovers, I promise he is a huge part of the next chapter so bear with me. Let me know what you thought!**


	17. Safe

**I hope you guys don't hate me. My schedule's gotten real busy so I probably won't be able to update as often as I could before. This is a bit of a short chapter for such a long wait but I promise the next one will be longer.**

Bible was watching Norman silently inside their cell, waiting there well into the late morning hours. The boy was sleeping, only because Bible had insisted he get some more rest. He could tell that Norman was exhausted but he wasn't quite sure if it was from the work or if he just wasn't sleeping. A soft and even breath came from his mouth, the same one that Bible had gotten used to hearing when everyone slept in the tank. It wasn't as bad as when Grady got drunk and snored loud enough that it echoed off the walls.

"No," uttered Norman, stirring slightly. "I want to go home. No!" He started fidgeting and twitching, squirming around with a panicked expression. More cries of fear came from his lips and Bible moved over to him with concern.

"Hey Norman," he whispered. "Come on Norman, wake up." The boy jolted awake all of a sudden and started looking around with wide eyes.

"Bible?"

"It's alright, kid. I'm right here." Norman suddenly embraced Bible tightly and started crying into his shoulder.

"I was so scared," he sobbed. "There was blood everywhere and it wouldn't go away. I just want to go home, I want to go home." Bible held him as delicately as he could, trying to provide some comfort.

"We'll be home soon. We'll all be home really soon, I promise."

"How can you promise that?"

"God will take care of us. He's protected us until now, and he's not going to stop." He wiped the tears from Norman's cheeks and clapped him on the shoulder. "You need to sleep, even if it's scary."

"I don't think I can."

"My dad had this solution for when I got scared as a kid," confessed Bible. "He would sit me down in his lap, open up our Bible, and read Psalm 4:8 to me."

With a chuckle, Norman asked, "So you're not the only one in your family that always reads the Bible? You're like Bible Jr." Bible couldn't help but laugh at that also, both exhibiting a rare smile.

"In peace I will both lie down and sleep," he recited, "for you alone, O Lord, make me dwell in safety. My dad would tell me that when we are at our most vulnerable, we are the safest because there would be a watchful eye over us."

"That made you feel better as a kid?"

"No. It made me feel better when he promised that he would be that watchful eye for the night. And I'd lie down in his lap and fall asleep right there. When I woke up in the morning, he'd be right there leaning against the wall."

"You'd do that for me?" inquired Norman.

"You're safe with me, Norman. I will protect you with as much strength as I have." Norman nodded and carefully lay down over Bible's lap, allowing his eyes to close again. Slowly the soft breaths came back as he fell back into sleep. The whole time Bible ran a hand over the boy's head. If he was honest with himself he was scared too, scared for the kid that trusted him. He was scared that he wouldn't be able to keep his promise, that no matter how much strength he had it wouldn't be enough. But he'd let Norman sleep because at least while he slept Bible could protect him.

Several of the prisoners had been grouped together in the armory, manufacturing guns for the Nazi army to use. Don was among them, feeling alone without the members of his crew by his side. It was strange for him here. He hadn't felt any different on the field when people started calling him Sergeant, but he'd grown accustomed to the respect that came with the title and it was odd to be nothing more than another face. Inside it was a mess of sounds, a bullet dropping out of sweaty fingers, the click of a cartridge being filled and snapped back into place.

The two soldiers watching them grew bored with the mundane task and went outside for a moment to smoke. Each and every prisoner continued their work, too broken to even consider misbehaving. One of the more hollowed looking men fell to his knees as his legs gave out. Don recalled his name was Tim, a former infantry soldier that kept having his food taken away for disobeying his orders. As Tim pulled himself back up he looked out of breath, tired. But then he did the strangest thing. Tim started singing.

"Under the sun," he sang. "Breaking our backs under the sun." It was coarse and blunt, sounding like a work song. The prisoners paused, intrigued by what Tim was doing.

"If we run, they'll shoot us down if we run." Another joined in without warning and Tim forced a wry smile. The others started to sing along, shouting out the opening line like a chorus.

"One by one," began the group, and Tim finished, "the bodies fall one by one. Fear their guns…"

"Men like us don't fear their guns." Don didn't know what made the words come out of him, but he was glad he did. Tim nodded in his direction, the group bolstered by his confidence. Each time they devised an opening, one of their comrades would contribute an ending.

"Save our sons, we suffer and toil to save our sons. Never be done, never quit we will never be done. War is won; we'll all go home when the war is won. Under the sun. If we run. One by one. Fear their guns. Save our sons. Never be done. War is won."

"That is quite enough!" shouted Faust as he stepped into the room. The other soldiers were back, guns aimed at the singing prisoners.

Each of them was forced onto their knees and hit in the face. Faust started walking down the line, asking every man if it had been he who started the singing. Tim had a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead, afraid of the gun that the officer had two fingers wrapped around. Before they could reach him Don shoved a Nazi away from him and got to his feet.

"It was me. I started the song because I didn't want these men to be afraid of scum like you." The all too familiar smirk of Faust appeared again at Don's statement.

"I should have known it would be you."

"He's lying," Tim cried out. "I did it. He's just trying to cover for me." Irritated by the situation, Faust gestured over to another man in between the two. Ernie was a scumbag by all standards and he'd sold out fellow prisoners for reward twice before.

"Ernie, which one of these two initiated the singing?" asked Faust.

"Tim." In the next second, Tim was shot through the head and three soldiers had to hold Don back. He didn't know if he wanted to kill Faust or Ernie but he was about to kill someone.

"Take this mess to my quarters; I have a special punishment in mind for him," the officer ordered. "Someone get Ernie his reward." Don spat in Ernie's direction as they dragged him out, kicking and cursing the whole way.

**Poor Tim. So next time we get to see what Don's punishment is and it might involve another one of the Fury crew. The work song took me about a week to come up with all the rhyming lines. What do you think of Momma Bible, I wanted to put that side of him into the story. My goal is to update in two weeks or less.**


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